


Soft Leather and Sunshine

by Bucket_Burns



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Steve Rogers, Bookstores, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, It's Just Really Happy, M/M, No Angst, Photographer Bucky Barnes, Plants, Serotonin Rush, Short & Sweet, The Sun's Two Favorite Boys, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22912543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bucket_Burns/pseuds/Bucket_Burns
Summary: “You kind of look like an angel.”The boy startled as his pencil slid across the paper, his blue eyes wide and suddenly directed at Bucky.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 18
Kudos: 161





	Soft Leather and Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ellessey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellessey/gifts).



> Based off this [Tweet](https://twitter.com/elliebbarnes/status/1229123562289524736) by Ellessy and my subsequent [reply](https://twitter.com/bucket_burnes/status/1229136837882499072)

It began with sunlight shining through the window.

This bookshop was Bucky’s favorite place to be. There were plenty of comfy leather couches and chairs. Every shelf was full to the brim with old hardcovers and little knick knacks, and there were plants _everywhere_. Hung from the ceiling, and cascading from the tops of bookshelves, and sitting on every table. And when the light fed through the windows in what the shop owner, Sarah, called “the golden hour,” everything was green and gold and warm, with tiny rainbows dancing across the shelves from the suncatchers dangling from the windows. It was magic, and Bucky came every day at five in the evening to sit and enjoy for a little; sometimes working on homework, sometimes picking up a new book. Sarah Rogers, was a kind woman, who always helped Bucky with his math problems, and saved her favorite sci-fi novels for him.

As Bucky wandered the aisles looking for a new selection, a shadow caught his eye. Bucky was transfixed. A young boy with glowing hair sat in the bay window, his fringe falling lightly on his forehead, his eyebrow creased in concentration. His tongue stuck between his teeth as he erased a line from the sketchbook in his lap. Two pothos plants and a large sun catcher hung over his head. Bucky had simply walked in for a new book, some new space adventure he could partake in, and now he was entranced by the sight of the small boy in the window, surrounded by light. 

Bucky grabbed a book at random off the shelf in front of him, and wandered toward the window, unsure as to why he needed to know this boy, but so sure that he did. 

“You kind of look like an angel.” 

The boy startled as his pencil slid across the paper, his blue eyes wide and suddenly directed at Bucky. 

Bucky winced, looking down at the ruined drawing. “Ah jeez, I’m sorry, I-uh, I didn’t mean to scare you, I just… the light looked really cool behind you is all, made you look like you were glowing. I’m sorry about the picture. It still looks real nice…” Bucky trailed off, shuffling his feet, guilt settling in his stomach for the ruined drawing and the weird introduction. “Sorry, I’ll-uh, I’ll just—”

“It’s okay!” The boy’s gaze was unwavering, but his cheeks were tinged the slightest pink. Bucky halted his hasty retreat, his eyebrows raised. The corner of the boy’s mouth pulled up in a crooked smile that made Bucky’s face warm and his fingers twitch for his camera that was currently on his bedside table at home. “It’s just a doodle anyways, like practice.” His eyes were sincere, if just a tiny bit guarded. Bucky took in the boy in front of him. His crooked grin was marred just slightly by a split in his lip, and a bandaid sat over his left eyebrow. The hand clutching the sketchpad was tinged a yellowish-green like he had bruised it the week before. Bucky wondered who was initiating the fights, and what the cause might be.

“Well it’s really good… I’m Bucky!” Bucky shot his hand, and the boy took it tentatively, shaking his hand.

“I’m Steve.” The crooked grin returned, and Bucky mirrored it with a toothy smile. 

“Steve. It’s nice to meet you, Steve. Can I see more of your drawings?” Steve’s crooked smile turned into an ear to ear grin, and Bucky thought that Steve looked like the sun.

“Sure, Bucky,” Steve slid over on the bench so Bucky could join him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“One more, Steve, pleaaase!” Bucky leaned over the table Steve was currently working at, his camera poised in front of him. The art studio was empty, a rare occurance, but the weather was nice. On days like this most students liked to do their work outside around the lush green campus that Alfred University was famous for. This meant that Bucky had free reign to be as obnoxious as he wanted. 

“Buck, c’mon, you know I hate it when you—”

“Yeah I _know_ but the light is so pretty, and I’m almost done with this project.”

“Aren’t you supposed to get a range of subjects for this project?”

“I have a range. There’s you napping, reading, doing yoga—”

“Doing what now? _Bucky!_ ”

“Forget I said that, I definitely did not take photos of you doing yoga to show my whole class.”

“Bucky,” Steve warned.

“C’mon Stevie, I swear this will be the last one.”

“Fine.” Steve turned back to his sketchpad, trying his best to ignore the camera directed at his face, and continue his sketch. He hated having his photo taken, hated feeling exposed, like any emotion on his face was suddenly captured forever, and then anyone could see it. But when your best friend is a photographer, and your photographer best friend is a persistent son of a bitch who has the innate ability to get you to do whatever he wants, well, you end up being the subject of most of his photos. Steve never really had the ability to say no to Bucky anyway, he’s been trying for eight years now.

“Can you tilt your head up just a little?” 

Steve rolled his eyes, but obliged. Tilting his head up as much as he could while still looking comfortably at his sketchbook. The light shining through the art studio was warm on his face, and it reminded Steve of his mom, and home. He closed his eyes for just a second, soaking in the warmth. He should call her, maybe set up a good time for him and Bucky to come home and visit for spring break. He missed her.

He opened his eyes, and turned back to his sketch. “Is this good, Buck?” 

When he didn’t get a response or hear the click of the camera, he turned back to his friend. Bucky stood there, his camera held against his chest, looking back at Steve, his eyes intense and glowing in the light of the setting sun. His pink lips were parted slightly, and his typically dark curls lying against his forehead lit up like honey. Steve’s heart fluttered gently in his chest and his fingers twitched toward his sketchbook, even as he held Bucky’s searing eye contact. 

This was an ongoing unspoken subject. A tension that bubbled under the surface, an idea that what they’ve had for so long could become something more, something better, but Steve was too terrified to explore, to ask, to look. If Bucky didn’t feel the same, if Steve was reading the signals wrong, he could lose his best friend, and he refused to be the reason that he lost the best thing in his life. So he cleared his throat, and he said “Bucky,” in a tone that commanded attention. 

Bucky shook his head, snapping out of his reverie, and then nodded quickly. “Uh, yeah! Yeah, that was perfect, turn back.” Steve turned back to his sketchpad and found that he had already started drawing a very familiar form, like his hands knew how to draw Bucky without him looking, or realizing he was drawing at all. His cheeks flushed, and he turned the page to start something new.

“Wait, it was better when you... ... just...” Bucky trailed off, and Steve suddenly felt gentle fingers under his chin, his face being raised just slightly, and then the fingers moved to his hair, pulling some of his pushed-back fringe back down to his forehead. The fingers lingered for another moment, before Bucky pulled back with a “Perfect, don’t move.” 

Steve was sure his emotions were clear all over his face, that Bucky’s professor was going to see the longing in his eyes, and he would tell Bucky, and Bucky would laugh and tell the professor he was full of it. Steve heard the click of the camera and his heart stopped for a moment, and then he heard a tiny whisper, probably not meant to be heard.

“Perfect.” 

Steve didn’t dare look up, just continued to draw nothing in particular, a building facade because it was safe and unassuming. He heard Bucky clear his throat, and then he spoke up louder. 

“Perfect. One day you’re gonna have your art in a museum, and they’re gonna have an about-the-artist section, and instead of a self-portrait, it’ll be this photo. Everyone will spend more time looking at the piece labeled Glowing Dumbass by James Buchanan Barnes than they’ll spend looking at the art, and people will come from all over the world to see my photo in your exhibit. People will say, _that Bucky Barnes is a genius, he has such an amazing eye, he deserves his own exhibit_ , and then they’ll get rid of your paintings, give ‘em to charity and they’ll put up my photos instead. Then everyone will celebrate what an incredible gift I am to the world of photography, and to humanity as a whole.” Bucky flopped down in the chair next to Steve’s, looking down at his camera. Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes. 

“And he’s humble too.”

“Very humble. Humble, and handsome, and creative.”

“Just lemme see it, jerk.” 

Bucky’s shit eating grin faded into a gentle smile as he turned the camera so Steve could see. Steve knew Bucky was very proud of his work, but he also knew that the talk was all for show, that Bucky was always nervous that his work wasn’t good enough. Steve knew the feeling very intimately. Deciding to take the path of an artist was terrifying, the fear that your entire worth is based on your ability to be better than others, even when you _do_ want others to succeed. It’s putting out your passion and opening yourself up for someone to say “that’s not good enough,” and you have to hold yourself together every time that happens. Steve was very _very_ lucky to have Bucky, to have someone who knew exactly when he had bad days, who knew exactly what to do when those days came, and who could talk him off the ledge. Steve lost count of how many times he had considered dropping out of art school and going into something financially stable. Bucky had the same bad days, the same doubt and the same anxiety, he just did a better job of masking it. 

Still, on many occasions, Steve had walked into their shared dorm room to find Bucky in a ball on the floor, surrounded by bits of ripped photos, his breathing heavy, with the occasional “I can’t do this, what am I thinking,” slipping out of his mouth. On those days, Steve was always there, to kneel down, and pull Bucky’s head out from between his knees to rest instead on his chest. He’d breathe deeply, like Bucky used to do when Steve had asthma attacks, and Bucky would slow his breathing down to meet Steve’s, and they would sit silently in each other’s company. Steve was just very grateful they had each other.

The photo was stunning, his silhouette standing dark and solid against the golden light filtered through the window. Steve was relieved to see that his facial expression wasn’t actually visible, but his form was captured clearly. The hair Bucky had pulled to his forehead curled softly toward his eyes, and his crooked nose looked almost tastefully chosen for the photo, as opposed to an unfortunate effect caused by the many fights Steve had been in when he was too small to actually defend himself. His sketchbook was also obscured in shadow, but the pencil in his hand was obvious. The photo really did look like a professional photo of an artist at work, and even though Steve knew Bucky was kidding earlier, his heart squeezed at the thought of his work actually being on display one day, Bucky’s photographs right beside it in a joint exhibit. Next to each other, along the split between their works, would be this photo, and a piece of Steve’s, a portrait of Bucky with a camera in his hands, and light in his eyes. They would both be there for the opening of the exhibit, Bucky putting on a brave, proud face, while his fingers wove through Steve’s for support. Steve turning to give Bucky a soft kiss on the cheek—

Steve shook himself out of his daydream, and nodded at Bucky. “It’s real good, Buck. Your professor’s gonna love it.” 

Bucky ducked his head meekly at the praise, and nudged Steve’s shoulder with his own. “You’re a good subject, Stevie.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky breathed a sigh of relief as he dropped his duffel bag in the hallway and took in the apartment. Bucky loved that his job took him on random trips around the world, it was everything he ever wanted to do, but the best feeling was coming back home after. 

This trip wasn’t too long, just a few days in Yosemite for an environmental conservation piece, but Bucky still did his routine check of the apartment. He and Steve had really lucked out with it; a beautiful open floor plan with big windows and exposed brick, two bedrooms, and lots of natural lighting. Winnie and George Barnes were good friends with the man that owned the building, and he had given them a discount on rent. Bucky loved it. Between Steve’s eye for interior design, and Bucky’s innate ability to keep plants alive, their apartment was the posterchild for a pinterest board labeled ‘goals’. All natural wood, and brick, and soft leather, and a whole lot of green. And if they had technically themed it after Sarah’s bookstore where they had originally met, well, neither of them mentioned it. It just felt right.

Bucky strolled around the apartment with his soil moisture meter and a watering can, and was pleasantly surprised to see all his plants were still alive and healthy. The first time he had gone on a work trip, it had been for two weeks, and his plants had not fared nearly as well. 

When he was done with his plant inspection, he moved on to the fridge. He had restocked it right before he left, and threatened Steve bodily harm if he came home and found rotten produce in the fridge. It was really his way to encourage Steve to keep a healthy diet while he was away. Steve often forgot to feed himself if he was working on a new painting, or if he had had a long day teaching, or if he just wasn’t thinking about it. Bucky was pleased with the lack of fruits and vegetables in the fridge, and he shut it and made his way to his room to shower and relax. Normally he would have told Steve what day he was flying back in to New York, but Steve always insisted on finding a sub, or cancelling class so he could meet Bucky at the airport. Bucky could tell that it put extra stress on him, so he was purposefully vague about how long the project might take. It was only a little after noon, and Steve’s class ran until 4:30, so Bucky had some time.

He showered and got dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that Bucky was almost certain was actually Steve’s. He plugged in his laptop, connected his SD card, and set his pictures to upload, then cracked open the book he had been reading on the plane, and leaned back against his pillows. It dawned on him about five minutes later, when he realized he hadn’t actually absorbed a single word, that peace and relaxation weren’t going to come easily today. He felt antsy, and unfocused, like he had on the plane, like he wasn’t home yet, and it was an unsettling feeling. He snapped his book shut and rolled back off the bed, and instead decided on cleaning. Cleaning always made him feel better, like a bird nesting. He felt more comfortable in a space that he had just rearranged to his liking. So he started in the kitchen and worked his way through. When he got to the living room, though, he was stopped by a tiny rainbow dancing on the wall. 

He whipped his head around to the center window, and sure enough, hanging from the top was a long spiral suncatcher just like the ones Sarah used to make, and he had no doubt where it came from. His heart welled with sentiment, and he rushed back to his room to grab his phone and went to his contacts. It only rang twice before a familiar voice answered.

“Bucky Barnes, where have you _been_?” 

Bucky’s face split into a grin. “Most recently, California, but I feel like that might not be what you’re asking.”

“I haven’t heard from you in too long, I have to get all my news from Steve. And then I have to filter that news to your parents, and then explain to them that, no, I haven’t heard from you either, I just have an inside source. You better call them, young man.”

“Yes, ma’am, I promise.”

“Good. Now how was your trip?”

“It was beautiful, Sarah. I’ll send you some photos once they’re done uploading. We’ll go back there someday! I would love to make it a whole family event, bring my parents and you and Steve, maybe even Becca if she can get away from work for a little. You guys would love it.”

“That sounds lovely, Bucky. I can’t wait.”

“How are you? How’s the shop?”

They talked for almost an hour, catching up and cracking jokes, and it made his restless energy deplete some. 

“Goodness, we’ve been on the phone for an hour, I’m so sorry! I’ll let you get back to Steve.”

“Oh Steve isn’t here, he’s still at work.”

“He’s not with you? Didn’t he take the day off?” 

“Nope.”

“Oh… he just seemed very… ready for you to come home when I came to visit yesterday. I figured he would come meet you at the airport.”

“I, uh, I didn’t really tell him what day I was coming home. I didn’t want him to stress out about finding a sub, you know how he can be.”

“Well, I know he’ll be happy to see you. You know where his inhaler is, yes?” 

“Wh—yes, yeah I know where his inhaler is, why is that impor—”

“No reason, just checking. I have to go, call your mother, come visit soon, goodbye!”

With that the call ended and Bucky stared at his phone in bewilderment for a moment. That was… odd. He had just set his phone back down on his bed when he heard the front door open, and a sound immediately after that was definitely Steve tripping over Bucky’s duffel bag. He heard a grumbled “Dammit, Buck,” before a little gasp, and then a louder “Bucky?”

“In here!”

He heard Steve’s hurried footsteps through the hallway, and then he was in Bucky’s doorway, and he was beaming and his eyes were twinkling, and he had a streak of blue paint in his hair and across his forehead. Bucky’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest. His restless energy all but disappeared, and, oh, this was exactly what he expected to feel when he got home in the first place, all warm and comfy, and like he could take a really long nap. The weight of that feeling and the meaning behind it was not lost on Bucky, and the gravity of it was a little staggering.

Any lecture that looked like it was on the tip of Steve’s tongue apparently died there as they just smiled at each other, and then Steve said “Welcome home, Buck,” and the words captured exactly how Bucky was feeling. _This_ was home. Bucky just patted the bed next to him, and Steve walked over and flopped down on it, his head coming to rest on Bucky’s thigh, and his feet still planted on the floor.

This was something they did whenever Bucky came back from a trip. They would sit on the couch or hangout on one of their beds, and they would fill each other in on everything. They were so used to living in each other’s pockets, that the separation that came with these trips was a little hard on them both. Maybe they were codependent, but oh well.

Bucky started, told Steve about his trip, told him about how beautiful Yosemite was, and how much Steve would love it there. “You would die, Steve, it’s so beautiful, the way the light reflects off the lakes. And oh my god, Steve, there was a rainbow coming off the waterfall, it was like paradise. I’ll show you all the pictures, we have to go back.” 

Steve listened with rapt attention, his smile soft and content as he looked up at Bucky. When Bucky finished, Steve asked questions, Bucky answered, and then Steve filled Bucky in on everything that happened at home. He talked about his students and their friends, his latest painting, news from different galleries wanting to showcase his work. Bucky beamed proudly down at Steve as he spoke, and eventually Steve ran out of things to say. Bucky ran his finger along the line of paint on Steve’s forehead, and into his hair, and Steve’s eyes fluttered closed. 

“You’ve got a little something here, by the way.”

“I sure hope it’s paint.” Steve sounded like he was ready to fall asleep right there.

“It is.” Bucky’s heart gave another painful squeeze.

“Oh good.”

The sun chose this as the opportune moment to break into their shared space, the light sending golden streaks through the window, and across Bucky’s blankets. Steve’s hair was glowing and his eyelashes cast shadows across his cheeks. He looked like an angel. Bucky let out a tiny huff at the thought. 

Steve peeked one eye open to look up at Bucky. “What’s funny?”

“Do you remember when we met?”

“Of course I do. Some kid with messy curls comin’ up to my scrawny ass with my scraped up knees and telling me I look like an angel. I thought you were about to pick on me or something, that’s why I ruined my drawing… but then you apologized.” Steve’s smile stretched wider and his eyes opened to look at Bucky. “You apologized and then you asked to see my drawings, and no one had ever done that before. I was so grateful for a friend, I thought _you_ must be the angel.” Bucky’s heart soared. “Now, though, I know that was just you making snap decisions to trust people because you were crazy.”

“I think I still might be.” 

The sunlight reflected beautifully in Steve’s deep blue eyes, like a sunset over the ocean. Steve was still smiling as he looked up at Bucky, and Bucky’s hand was still in Steve’s hair, and Steve must have hung another suncatcher in Bucky’s room because there was a rainbow shining across Steve’s cheekbone. Bucky was just so damn fond, and so relaxed, and so at peace. 

There was only one thing he could think of that would make this moment better, and so he leaned down without thinking and brushed his lips softly against Steve’s. Steve froze underneath him, and Bucky panicked, trying to pull back, but he didn’t get very far before he was stopped by a hand wrapped tightly in the collar of his shirt. He shut his eyes tightly, unwilling to see the disgust—or worse, the pity—in Steve’s eyes, but then there were gentle fingers brushing along his cheekbone, and then down to his jaw, scratching gently against the stubble he had grown on his trip.

“You’ve got a little something here, by the way,” Steve mumbled. Bucky’s eyes shot open in confusion.

“I-uh… yeah I was gonna… shave it..”

“Don’t. I like it,” Steve pulled Bucky down to him, and Bucky thought maybe he had never experienced true happiness before this moment. Everything from the awkward angle, to the pain in Bucky’s back and the cramp in his thigh, to the way they were both grinning too much to really kiss, was perfect. 

Steve pushed Bucky back so he could sit up and move up to Bucky's side. They lay down together, sharing a pillow and wrapping themselves around each other, and Bucky knew that nothing on Earth could compare to this. There would be no place he could go that would feel complete without Steve at his side, and he felt foolish for not realizing it until now. But maybe, he thinks, as he leans back to smile at Steve—washed in golden light, with the rainbows from the suncatcher dancing around them— Bucky always knew exactly where he belonged.

In Steve’s arms, with the sunlight shining through the window. That was his favorite place to be.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this big ol' serotonin rush! A GIANT thank you to Ellie for beta reading and being SO supportive and helpful, AND for the inspiration for this story in the first place, so this is for you.
> 
> You can find the rest of my works [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bucket_Burns/works) and feel free to follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/bucket_burnes) to see some happy or sad Stucky posts and a whole lot of losing my mind over Sebastian Stan :)


End file.
